A tale of two daddies

I am divorced and remarried. I have a seven-year-old from my first marriage. We share custody and co-parent well. (People who have watched the journey for the last five years have periodically popped in and commented on us doing a bang-up job at prioritizing The Boy’s needs.)

(Shout out also to both daddies for sharing the role/name/honor/responsibility/title of dad gracefully.)

It’s amusing when The Boy delights in having two dads. (Sometimes perhaps mistaken for being the child of a gay couple. So far, not mistaken for being the child of a polyamorous triad.)

But it’s also sometimes confusing when either he or I, in talking to each other, refer to “dad.” Because he calls both of them dad. I was hoping that would organically resolve, that he would just gravitate towards a slightly different name for one of them.

It hadn’t happened yet.

His friend was unhappy with the ambiguity and took it upon herself to resolve it.

So now, we have The Tall Daddy (his bio dad, who is well over six feet tall), and The Climbing Daddy (my husband, who is responsible for us all getting into rock climbing, including the friend).



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